


Thou Shall Not

by Gildedmuse



Category: Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare
Genre: After Party, Bastardizing Shakespeare, But The Play Is Sweet, F/M, Filled With Longing & Regret, Niche Fandom Fics, Not In The Style Of The Original Author, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Don Pedro/Beatrice, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Post-Canon, Short One Shot, The Prince Is Sad, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 21:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18677377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedmuse/pseuds/Gildedmuse
Summary: His scheme of love has worked, his brother's misdeeds uncovered and righted, and everyone is in good cheer. So why does Don Pedro not join  the merriment?





	Thou Shall Not

**Author's Note:**

> [Originally posted to Tumblr in well just say 2012.]

**Thou Shall Not**

 

The plotting, as it were, had paid off most successfully, supposing you were not a bastard.

 

Which is to say that good fortune came to all good men in the Prince’s company. Leonato gains a son, Claudio a Hero, and Benedick a weighted noose to tie ‘round his neck which held him down so heavily that hours later he still floats over the dance floor as a bird skimming the clouds. Why, had God himself granted men the gifts of wings they should not be as unground as a love-laden Benedick.

 

What more, then, could a dear friend want but to see his companion so greatly pleased at being forced to eat his own stubborn words?

 

What more than a wife, Benedick answers from across the room. Or would have spoken, perhaps, if he were not so engaged in the dancing and jubilation and the company of the fair Beatrice and perhaps it is time to set down this glass before his thoughts turn any further outwards.

 

“You do not join the merrymakers, but was it not your own hand that set this measure to music?” Don Pedro sighs, a quiet sound meant only for himself and easily overtaken by the general revelry. The air tonight was light with laughter and one man’s sorrow could not dampen such sweet festivities. Neither did he desire anything of the sort. After all, was not this a celebration of his cleverness and proof yet of his cunning? Was it not his own plan to set upon Benedick and Beatrice such a love for one another that the two should still their mouths long enough to speak which was so plainly truth?

 

So why set the stage for such a joyous occasion only to play the part of the bastard standing off center – dare he say – sulking alone.

 

“It seems to me-” Ahh, but not entirely alone it would seem. Don Pedro chokes on the rim of his glass, finding himself startled out of his own mind by a heavy clasp to the shoulder. “-that all wrong have been righted and all rightful matches made.” The good father gives him a gracious smile, returning his hand to the bible held at his chest.

 

It is nothing but the guilt of the school boy that leaves him fiddling with his glass, refusing the friar’s gaze though the man’s eyes were kindly, unprejudiced. No, it is not the man but the book that scorns the Prince so, all but intoning out to him like the old cardinal at the palace’s cathedral. Thou shall not covet, boy.

 

He had been terribly wrong before. No, the answer to this is clearly more wine rather than less.

 

“A merry conclusion indeed!” Don Pedro toasts his own words, drinking to them with the passion of a whole banquet. Ah, now see, that is how one earns the disapproval of a holy man. He shall make note.

 

“And still,” the friar spoke evenly yelt all the Prince feels was the harshness of unspoken holy words. Thou shall not covet… “You stand behind.”

 

“The proper place for I give my friends to the arms of their new wives.”

 

“You give them willingly and true?”

 

If he had but a drop more drink he would surely have choked on it. Instead Don Pedro is left merely lowering an empty glass and attempting not to scowl too heavily, though he could not help but give the man something of a suspicious look. Does he think to question the Prince? And here of all places? “If you’re suggesting I still hold to the slander laid over Hero by my brother–”

 

“My lord, you must come join the dance!” Just like that, she came to him as an angel sent to stop the grievous sin for surely not even the crown was forgiven in arguing against a man of God. Still dressed in black but looking as fair a vision as ever there was to be seen.

 

It is only with Beatrice’s smile that the wine turns to spirit in his stomach and the sudden lightheadedness that accompanies leaves the Prince nearly returning her charms.

 

Dear God, perhaps it would be better to stay and fight the friar.

 

“I would not be able to keep up with your steps, my lady,” Don Pedro can hear the merriment sneaking into his own voice. Surely it is only the effect of the wine taking his thoughts further from his brother and not the closeness of his companion’s betrothed. “The swiftness of your wit is only matched by the speed of your feet and I think to challenge you at neither.”

 

Imagine what words would do to a maid such as Hero! He hardly has to conjure a guess for he had seen her worry over duller barbs. Perhaps it is preferable to most men that their lady should be gentle and mild, but did not pouting lips more belong on the face of a petulant child than that of a woman? For all the worth of his station the Prince felt himself far more drawn to the lack of modesty shown in the ease of which Beatrice took his playful tongue.

 

She turns on him a shrewd look, or as shrewd as she could manage with her cheeks still aglow and her lips turned up in a mad sort of glee. “The dance does not go as quickly as wine goes down. Should I worry that my presence drives you to drink with such haste?”

 

Suppose he danced with her, just this once? What harm could come of it?

 

“Come,” Beatrice hardly waits for him to gather his wits but she had already taken the step forward, placing her arm up to his. “For any wife with worth to her does make her husband protest with jealousy ever so often and dear Hero will not lend me use of poor Claudio for that point and perhaps. Come dance with me, dear Prince!”

 

Fleetingly, Don Pedro goes stiff before the wine hits his muscles and leaves him stumbling forward. It is all the worse for the way his stomach drops as Beatrice’s sweet face turns from pleasure to worry.

 

An arm wraps about the lady – not unattached, of course, but the world around her seems lesser somehow and unworthy the attention – and here is Benedick standing beside her just as Don Pedro so predicted it should not come as any such surprise. “It would seem the Prince has taken his vows along with the good father,” Beatrice teases, leaning now away from him and fitting into Benedick’s hold. “He will dance not.”

 

All the scorn that Benedick once wore has now turned to a mad sort of glee. “Methinks he be less sick with sin and more for want of a wife.”

 

Yours, in point of fact.

 

Don Pedro bites his lips least they turn trader. “Sick from the wine.” He holds his empty glass up to Benedick, but there is an emptiness in the gesture. A falseness that Benedick would be sure to see, had he not been so stricken by the woman in his arms. The two of them fit together with such ease it is as if their marriage had been officiated long ago and yet Beatrice shone with all the beauty of a maiden bride. Neigh, more so even than any bride he had seen before.

 

“Then turn yourself to a merry drunk and dance,” Benedick orders, smiling like a fool as he pulls Beatrice back to the floor.

If only Benedick had been his own self he would mock Don Pedro right out of such a mood. Could it be that he is sick with love? Thank heavens such a plague had already killed Benedick and left only this hornless bull in his place. But that had not been a plague but the Prince’s own doing.

 

The trouble with plotting, Don Pedro finds as he leaves the hall and Benedick’s callings, is that one never expects them to work.

  
  



End file.
